


Eider in Applecross Bay

by Jelly_Jenkins



Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, Disordered Eating, F/M, Malcolm does a podcast, One Shot, Pining, Post-Canon, Reunions, Sam is big sad, Social Anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:53:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25162705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jelly_Jenkins/pseuds/Jelly_Jenkins
Summary: 4 years after Malcolm's arrest. 2 years since she'd last heard from him. Sam thought she'd reluctantly and dolefully moved on. But a footnote article in The Independent reminds her of what they had.
Relationships: Sam Cassidy/Malcolm Tucker
Comments: 6
Kudos: 36





	1. Chapter 1

Sam sat up at her kitchen table, resting her cat lover's mug full of 3-sugars-medium-cream coffee next to the vase in the center. Her hair drifted in front of her face as she typed in 'Independent UK' into the search bar of her laptop. She dragged the scroll bar down, reading headlines like 'Jewelry Heist Suspects Arrested,' and 'Broken Sewer Sink Hole Threatens Forest Hill Railway.' Her eyes skipped over one row, towards the bottom in the Scotland section. It didn't have an accompanying picture or anything. She went back and tried to read it, but just simply couldn't focus. Like the subconscious parts of her mind were having a premonition, trying to save her anguish. Sam blinked, slowly, took a sip of her coffee, and then read each word individually.

'Former Director of Communications for DoSAC, Malcolm Tucker, Retires to Start Podcast.'

Her eyes widened. She held her breath and re-read it another time over to make sure she'd seen it correctly. Once she was sure she did, she exhaled deeply, letting out a whining noise as she did. Sam clenched the fist that was sitting on the table.

She thought she'd forgotten that name. She thought she'd been able to move on, to think of him only on his birthday and around the holidays, when the memories were good and the atmosphere was light and airy, like a french meringue. When she'd go over to his house to share Christmas morning and cocoa with him, because she knew he had no one else to share it with. The night when... Oh, goodness, what was her name? Nicola. Yes, Nicola, and the opposition at the time had that radio debate and Malcolm insisted she went home while he spent his birthday in his office. She'll never stop giggling at the cake the PM sent to him.

Slowly, she started to remember more times they shared. The ones that were bittersweet. The week after Malcolm got sacked the first time by Fleming, for example. She remembered how she was sent home, with nothing else to do while they scrambled to give her a job elsewhere. She didn't have the heart to give him a call, and neither did he, apparently. The wound was just a bit too deep to put peroxide on. On the 8th day of moping around her flat, she got a call from him at around noon and was told he was back (to use his words "I feel like I'm Elton John on his 5th fucking farewell tour"), and that she should get down to Number 10 as soon as possible.

She noticed herself smiling, and the tears in her eyes that had welled. Sam wiped them away, and re-read that headline just one more time before clicking on it. There really wasn't much to the article. Although, you could tell whoever wrote it had some history and a few bones to pick with Malcolm, since the text was just steeped in disdain and bitterness. Towards the bottom was a recount of Malcolm's role in the Goolding inquiry and his subsequent arrest. God how it hurt to remember that moment.

What hurt more was her subsequent recollection of her last phone call with him. She was sitting in this exact chair, in this exact flat having the fifth cup of tea of the afternoon, which had become both therapy and a meal replacement. An originally gorgeous bouquet of rotting, slimy, wilted tulips were leaned against the interior rim of the clear vase. A colorful, cookie-cutter 'get well soon' card hung off of the stem of one of them. She stared down at her phone, mindlessly playing a sudoku game, which was suddenly and invitingly interrupted by a call from an unrecognizable number. It startled her, but she quickly took it in hopes it was him. The all-too-familiar robotic voice began:

"This is a prepaid call from Her Majesty's Prison Belmarsh for inmate..."

"Malcolm Tucker."

"Say 'yes' to accept this call."

She sighed, "Yes."

A clicking noise could be heard, switching the line. "Sam!"

Sam grinned, he sounded so excited, just as ever. She could tell he tried to be positive and upbeat, at least just for her. "Hello, Malcolm."

"Hello, sweetheart. Listen, uh, I don't have much time for this, yeah? But guess what? I'm getting let out in a month!"

She opened her mouth, stumbling out her words, "Oh, u-uh. Oh, my God."

"I know. For good behavior. Shocker, I know. Hey, when I get out I want to see you, okay?"

"Okay, Malcolm."

He was quiet for a beat longer than usual. "I've missed you."

She chuckled, "I missed you, too, Malc. Maybe we could go for lunch, hm?"

"I'd love that." He lingered. "I'm sorry, I've got to go, Sam."

"It's okay. Take care of yourself."

"You too."

The line went dead. She kept it against her head for a moment longer, closing her eyes hard shut and letting tears drip down her face. She couldn't tell if they were for relief and joy or for pining sorrow.

That month went by so slowly and agonizingly. Each day was like peeling back a hangnail stretched over the span of 24 hours. She doubled up on the tea. She rarely ate. At night, she could barely sleep because the twin size mattress she slept on felt so empty and endless. Every touch with a blanket she longed harder, wishing that touch was his. In the days, she could barely stay awake, relying on more caffeinated tea to stay awake. Looking back now, she thought it was rather dramatic.

Soon, the release date came. She had it circled on the calendar. But it passed by, without notice like all the other days. A growing anxiety and fear that was born in her stomach and had crawled up and ate at the bottom of her heart like a parasite. Even as she continuously received calls with Malcolm's name on them, she couldn't bring herself to answer, for whatever reason. She became afraid to leave the house, afraid that she'll see him in public and she'll have to talk to him. Eventually that fear extended to friends. Then, she couldn't answer the phone for her own mother. One night, her sister nearly kicked her door in to make sure she was still alive.

The calls from Malcolm weaned. She didn't hear any news about him in the papers, so for all she cared he'd dropped off the face of the Earth or moved to Australia and got bitten by a poisonous spider and died. God, how horrible would that have been?

The fear of others weaned as well, but not easily. Another one of her sisters dragged her to a shrink, which she quietly despised at first but grew to understand the importance of. She learned again how to act like, in her mother's words, "Not a crazy person." Getting back to normal took a year.

This past year was really just life getting started again. She'd been doing a bunch of traveling. She'd gone to New York City with her brother, then over to Japan for a week with her mum, a weekend train trip to a Scotland beach, and finally to Amsterdam with both her sisters. She'd gotten a cat in recent months, which she'd named Pietro.

All leading up to this article this Saturday morning. But this time, the thought of calling Malcolm didn't seem so terrible. The more the mulled on it, the more it seemed appealing. The more she longed for it. The feeling of need hit her like a football to the back of the head. Clicking the attached hyperlink in the article, she was immediately taken to YouTube, and a few bird calls started. Sam was confused. Malcolm's voice prioritized over the bird calls and he began with his introduction.

"Hello, I'm Malcolm Tucker. Welcome back to Birdwatching of Applecross."

She was shocked, which quickly turned into uncontrollable laughter that drowned out the podcast's noises and caused Pietro to skitter off skiddishly into the living room.

"...and had a nice cup of Earl Grey tea. I stepped outside onto my porch and felt the salty air cut through my jumper and assault my nasal senses. A pair of mating cormorants caught my attention first, resting themselves in a crease of rocks."

Sam checked the running time for this episode. It was an hour. An hour of Malcolm doing his best to be the Bob Ross of bird watching. An hour of Malcolm going on about puffins and eiders and seagulls. In horror, she went to his channel and found that there were over 40 of these, all an hour long with an upload schedule that'd tire out even a vlogger.

"Oh my God, Malcolm." She said to herself. Had he really lost it this time? She opened up another tab and typed in "Applecross," discovering it was a small village on the West coast of Scotland. Oh great, he's moved himself out to Scotland to go mad by himself. The thought of it really pained her. He must be so lonely.

She made her way back to her bedroom, podcast still going on in the background, and pulled open her nightstand drawer, clawing around at the clutter and junk for her old work phone (which they never asked for back, for whatever reason. Good job on the national security, guys, because she had the PM's personal phone number in there.) The ancient Blackberry that she pulled out still had the tiniest amount of charge left in it, which she thanked her lucky stars for. She watched it slowly power up as she sat down on the creaky bed.

She scrolled through nostalgic, sleek menus to find her contacts list and found Malcolm's number. Sam scrambled for a pen and a tissue to write down the number. This could all of been in vain, by the way. Malcolm could've changed his number, or it could've been the number for his decommissioned work phone, or any other number of things. But the mania of needing to hear his voice, feel his touch, see his face again all outweighed basic logic.

She picked up her mug and poured the soured and cold coffee down the sink. Pietro jumped on the counter and mashed his head into her arm, begging for attention and treats. She smiled and gave him a few scratches before punching in his number on her more sensible phone. It began ringing, thank God.

"This is Malcolm."

She gasped, putting a hand over her mouth. She didn't know how to start.

"Hello?" He said.

"I-It's me, Malc."

Malcolm went quiet for a moment. "Sam?"

She choked out a sob. "Malcolm..."

"Oh my God, Sam... Sam, i-is something the matter, sweetheart?"

"I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry I didn't call you sooner."

"Sam, look, it's okay. You're okay right now, though, right? You're not hurt? Not in trouble?"

She sniffled, wiping away her tears and seating herself on the counter. "No, no, I'm not hurt. I just feel so bad I didn't call you, a-and I haven't heard from you in _two years_ , and it's all my fault. I'm so sorry, I was being an idiot a-and I couldn't see you-"

"Sam." He said, sternly. "It's okay. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Good, right. Why couldn't you see me?"

Pietro kneaded his declawed paws into her leg. She placed a hand on his scruff, therapeutically massaging him. He mewed and purred quietly. "I just... Wasn't ready. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize any more. I'm the one who got myself locked up."

She chuckled half-hardheartedly. He asked, "How have you been, dear?"

"Lately, I've been fine. I guess. Been doing a bit of traveling."

"Ah, where'd you go?" She heard plates clattering, so he assumed he'd been doing dishes or eating or something.

"Most recently Amsterdam. What about you? I heard you've been doing a podcast. Birdwatching? Really?"

"There's not much else to do out here, you know. You should come visit, you'd love it."

She exhaled out of her nose, "Scotland's quite far from London, Malc."

"O-Or we could meet in the middle. Or I could come down there, although I'd risk being bombarded by journalists."

"You just want to see me so bad, don't you?" She could hear him tripping over words, flustered. She giggled, "I want to see you, too. I miss you, I really do. How's next weekend for you?"

"Sure. Yes."

"Well, I guess any time works for you, now, hm? Malcolm Tucker is retired. I never thought I'd see the day."

"I sure as fucking hell never did, either."

The conversation fell to a lull. Neither of them minded, silence in the presence of one another, even just on the phone, was bliss. "Um... I've gotta go, I gotta go to the grocery store. Pick up a few things. But, call me later. Okay?"

"Okay."

"I missed you, Malcolm. So much. Truly."

She could feel the smile in his voice. "Missed you too, Sam."

"Love you. Bye." Sam tacked on at the end, slyly, and hanging up just to be a tease.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam recollects on the train ride over, then has a pleasant evening with Malcolm.

Sam stood there, looking across the platform at the rumbling train approaching the station in the distance. She loved to people watch in public places like this. About 20 feet away to her left, a toddler was fussing at his mother about being bored. Almost directly behind her was an older gentleman reading a newspaper. Off to the right, a woman was leaning against the brick wall arguing with someone on the phone. Against the far fence with tall hedge was a bickering couple.

"Look if you didn't want to be here, then you didn't have to come." The woman said.

The man furrowed his brow, "I do want to be here, to see you off."

"Oh, yeah, I bet you can't wait until I leave so you can go and shag that bitch, Kelly." She half-mumbled. Sam winced as the man began to go off on her loudly, and she retorted back even louder.

Another agonizing minute passed before the train came to a complete stop. Sam dug around in her purse for her ticket and let the conductor punch it. She collapsed in a window seat about halfway down the line. She'd heard somewhere the people in the middle are the most likely to survive a train accident. Or was it the back? She didn't care, it was probably just her paranoia that made her sit there.

The woman from earlier got on the train, too. She walked down the aisle quickly, typing into her phone furiously. Ivy rested her chin on her propped up hand and stared out the window at the man who had probably just received a very angry text. The couple reminded her of her and Malcolm when they'd have the occasional disagreement.

Every time they argued it was horrible. It was always about something stupid and horrible. The both of them always felt so horrible afterwards. Sam was always left needing a hug. Malcolm couldn't bring himself to provide one, for one reason or another.

That was another thing, Malcolm always seemed deeply impersonal and had a sort of professional detachment. Her therapist told her the technical term was 'emotionally unavailable.' Even after working for him for 10 years, through thick and thin. Through reshuffles, various PM's, sackings, and late nights. Through fleeting lovers on either party's part, which were done as a substitute for one another's intimate company. After all this time, Sam still didn't know an ounce more about his private life, aside from whatever facade he put up for himself.

She knew some things. She knew he was unmarried, no children. He had a sister, and a niece, both of whom he was fairly close with. He liked to read. He liked horror films. He liked to cook. He was allergic to bees and dog hair. But nothing else. Malcolm was truly a mystery of a man. Although, she guessed, that was just a goal she'd have to work at.

Her mind began racing through possibilities of what his childhood was like. He was obviously extremely Scottish, so there's his birthplace at least worked out. Maybe his parents were the tough love sort, and so that gave him a fighting spirit like no other. Maybe his constant fire and hostility in the workplace was because his parents were never proud of him, so he either has to be adored or hated, no in between. That way, at least, it's easy to read and play a part in front of certain people. She mused on Helen, one of the special advisors to the opposition era of Nicola Murray, saying one day "I don't think you got enough cuddles as a child."

After going down this train of thought, she felt dirty. Like she was gossiping on him with her own mind. So she tried to think of something else. She played a game with herself to name everything yellow she could think of. That got boring fast, especially since she kept coming back to 'banana' and 'lemon.' Malcolm liked bananas. But he always insisted on cutting them up and eating them like that because it was incredibly easy to make it look like something else, or insinuate that it was something else if you ate it like a normal person.

Then she remembered the entire point of this trip. She checked her phone for the time. It had been an hour since they'd left. Well, just nine more to go.

She took out her book, The Name of The Wind by Patrick Rothfuss. The trademark plastic covering on the library book crinkled as the pages tumbled open with ease, like how most older books do. She read it for about two hours. She enjoyed the her complimentary lunch. Then she fell asleep.

She woke up a few hours later to someone tapping her on the shoulder. "Ma'am, we're here." She shook awake, rubbing her eyes free of debris and grabbing her things.

Stepping off the train, the cold Scottish highland air snaked through her hair. She crossed her arms and shivered, glancing briefly at the pink evening sky which was so incredibly clear. Malcolm was supposed to pick her up at the station and drive her back to his. Sam smiled, picking up her pace as she walked through the tiny station building. By the time she hit the other door she was full on running. She darted her eyes around, looking for the car that fit the description Malcolm gave her on the phone. Her eyes landed on his face first, though. He looked so beautiful, leaning against the hood of his car, hands stuffed in his pockets, jacket blowing in the wind.

She giggled excitedly, tears of joy pooling in her eyes. "Malcolm." She said to herself, running up to him, nearly tackling him into a hug. She could feel him tense up. He slowly reciprocated, still tense, but at least he was trying. "Hi, Malcolm."

"Hello, sweetheart." He placed a hand on the back of her neck, leaning down slightly to rest his chin on her shoulder. They broke apart, Sam still resting her hands on his forearms lovingly. He smiled, looking down and then back at her. "You must be cold."

"Mhm, yes, I am."

"Shall we then?" He asked. She nodded. He opened the door for her, letting her in before crossing in front of the car and entering on the driver's side. And off they went.

As they drove and made pleasant conversation, she stared out the window at the gorgeous Scottish landscape. The first half an hour of the drive was thin, dead, spooky forest. They came upon a lake, which Malcolm explained to be Loch Garve. The waxing gibbous moon's light reflected off of the crest of each wave, like there were hundreds of thousands of bioluminescent zooplankton covering the surface of the water. Malcolm chuckled, "There's more lakes up ahead."

"It's so pretty at night."

He grinned sweetly, glancing down at her hand, which was resting on the middle console. He placed his palm on the back of hers, slowly curling his fingers under it. She reciprocated, wrapping her fingers around his. Sam mumbled, "You're cold."

"What? Sorry?"

"Oh, I said you're cold. Here," She put her other hand on his, trying to transfer warmth to him.

"Did you know the Gaelic word for lake is 'loch?'" He mentioned.

"Really?"

"Yeah, that's why all these signs say 'loch.'" He deadpanned.

She sighed, running her thumb along the back of his hand affectionately. "I love it out here."

He caught a glimpse of her eyes then returned his sight back to the road ahead. "You haven't even seen the actual town yet."

"I know, but... I just think it's quite neat." She giggled. "London's never this pretty."

"No, it's not. I mean, it's full of lazy, rude losers who've got no idea what the rest of the fucking world is like. Their fucking greasy noses are stuck in their little Facebook worlds of narcissism and false information." He continued to rant and rave for another couple of minutes, but Sam tuned him out, happy to be in his presence again. Once she thought he was done, she squeezed his hand to let him know she was listening. "That's partly why I moved out here, you know?"

"Where exactly do you live again? Middle of nowhere?"

"Applecross... It's not the middle of nowhere."

She sniggered, "Okay, how many shops does it have?"

He bit his lip. "Two."

"Two? That's _totally_ the middle of nowhere. I bet one of them is a gift shop."

Malcolm didn't respond, because Sam was right. It was the middle of nowhere. But he liked it like that. Like he said, the unsightly London just got tired after all these years. Malcolm had got fed up with the deplorable attitudes of the people and being in the public eye. It was nice in his little town. People said good morning to him like he was an actual person. When he went to the little shop down the road to buy tangerines and a packet of crisps, the middle-aged couple that ran it talked to him about the birds they'd seen the previous day. The waitresses at the cafe he frequented asked how he was doing. Nearly everybody knew each other, and he liked it that way. He couldn't wait to show Sam all the wonders of his town. Or, actually, he couldn't wait to show Sam off to the wonders of his town.

Speaking of Sam, she was awing at another loch. "What's this one called?"

"Loch Carron. It's technically not a loch, it connects to the ocean. We're nearly there, by the way."

"Mmm."

"Are you hungry? Dinner should be done by now, it's in the slow cooker so it'll stay warm."

"Ooh, what'd you make?"

He shifted his hold on Sam's hand around so their fingers were more interlaced. "Butternut squash dal with basmati rice. I also made some naan bread earlier today, but I've got to reheat it."

"Sounds delicious."

Malcolm turned down a road that was semi-lit by a singular, dim, and unkempt streetlight every 100 feet or so. On one side it was lined by white houses all attached to one another with the cutest little porches. On the other, a haphazard fence made out of large logs and then beach and ocean. Cliffsides were present on the wings of the town, which also were dotted with cute houses. He stopped the car at the last house in the row, parallel parking into his spot. They got out and went inside.

Malcolm's house was gorgeous and old. While he hung up his coat and took hers, she admired it. The lightly coloured floorboards creaked in certain spots, she noticed, as he walked across the entryway and living room and into the kitchen. His furniture was likely inherited with the house, as most of it matched, and his book collection was scattered wherever it would fit along various pieces of the matching set. The smell was that of his Indian food dish and a Earthy, warm and dark tea that she assumed he frequented drinking. Entering the space was like a warm hug that you never wished to leave.

"Go on, have a seat. I'll bring it over. Tea?"

"Sure." She sat down on the chair opposite of the kitchen. As she watched him put the dal into a serving dish and toasting bread and fluffing rice, she smiled. Watching him do mundane tasks for her was domestic bliss. The kettle boiled, he poured her a cuppa. They dined.

"So," He sipped his tea. "What have you been up to, Sam?"

"Oh, well um. I told you I'd been traveling."

"I know, but you couldn't have spent the past two years just traveling. I mean, I hope you haven't, otherwise you'd be without a pot to piss in, right?"

She chuckled. "No. No, that first year I wasn't so well. Just sort of... sad. All the time. Everyday." Malcolm grew concerned. "Depression. I-I was depressed, Malcolm. Horribly so." Sam stared down at her swirling cup of tea. She didn't see his hand reaching across the table until he set his palm on her wrist comfortingly. Her eyes followed it, making eye contact with him. "You don't have to worry about me. You shouldn't." She shook her head.

"I did, you know? I did worry about you, during that time. And I guess I still do, Sam."

"You don't have to, really, I'm fine."

He sighed, "Were you hurt by someone? Did some boy hurt you?"

In a sense, yes. But not intentionally. And he certainly wasn't considered a boy anymore.

She took her palm off her cup and held his hand. "Loosing my job was bad. But... Loosing you, Malcolm, was even worse. It destroyed me. You know, I barely ate, I couldn't sleep at night. How I dealt with it was to just shut myself off from everyone else, especially you. But that only made things worse. I'm better now. I still have bad days once and a while. But I'm better. Okay?"

He contemplated in silence for a moment or who, smiling and giving her and a squeeze before quietly saying "Okay." He sipped his drink, then continued in a normal volume of voice. "So, but, besides being self-destructive, what else?"

"Um... I got a cat. His name's Pietro. He's a grey chubby little shelter kitty. Hang on, I think I have a picture of him in my phone somewhere," She dug into her purse and swiped furiously through her camera roll to find him. "Here." She slid it across the table.

"Oh, isn't he just a funny little fella?"

"He is." She smiled. "Oh, and I didn't just go to Amsterdam on my travels."

"Where else did you go?"

"Japan, some beach on the Scottish coast for a weekend trip, and New York City."

"Oh, wow. Which, uh, beach was it, if you remember?"

"I don't remember off the top of my head but it was definitely south east Scotland. I went there with one of my friends. It was rainy, but overall pretty fun."

They continued in conversation, eventually finishing with dinner and moving to the couch. Sam snuggled into him, resting her head on his chest with his arm wrapped around her. She fell asleep to him telling her a story from his college years. He didn't notice until he finished and she hadn't nodded or mumbled a response. Malcolm smiled and placed a kiss on her forehead. He eventually fell asleep, too.

The next morning she found herself alone on the couch, a blanket tossed over her kindly. It smelled like him. The sun poured through the window behind her, silhouetting the couch and giving life to the potted plant in the corner. She inhaled sharply, rubbing her eye and sitting up. Her vision focused, and she saw him sitting on the bench in his tiny front porch outside, through the bay windows. She stood up and fixed her hair in the bathroom before joining him outside.

He was holding a pair of binoculars in his left and a pen, which was feverishly jotting down notes in his right. A black cup of coffee was sitting on the table. "Morning, Malcolm."

Malcolm rested the binoculars on his lap and looked up at her. "Good morning, dear. Did you sleep okay?"

"Yeah." She sat down on the bench next to him, feeling the cold metal bits through her trousers. "There's an eider, swimming around in the bay. Isn't he a nice chap?"

"Mhm."

He stayed quiet for a minute more. "Hey, listen. I was thinking... Come live with me. Out here. In this house."

She turned her head and stared at him, an expression on her face which was a cross between confusion and acceptance. "You can bring Pietro, your cat. You don't have to listen to me ramble on about birds all day, but we can walk by the beach or go to this good little cafe up the road or-"

"You don't have to bribe me, Malc." She chuckled, cupping his face. "Sure. I'll move in with you." She gave him a soft kiss on the cheek.

"Really?"

"Yeah." Sam nodded.

He looked shocked, tumbling over words. "Will you marry me, Sam? For... Tax purposes, yeah."

"Tax purposes? Malcolm," She laughed, "I would've done that regardless. Of course I'll marry you. Just don't buy me a fancy ring."

They laughed. They birdwatched together. She even made a guest appearance on his podcast. Later that day, they went for a late lunch at that cafe up the road. Aside from needing to gather her things from London, as far as Sam was concerned, this was the first day of the rest of their lives together.

**Author's Note:**

> teehee maybe ill make a ch 2 if i feel like it 
> 
> -jamie


End file.
